


Sway Me More

by caretta



Category: Birds of Prey (And the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn) (2020)
Genre: Blood, General fuckerry, M/M, Piss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:42:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24291508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caretta/pseuds/caretta
Summary: “Actually, he can be a very controlled type of explosion.” — Victor Zsasz.
Relationships: Roman Sionis/Victor Zsasz
Comments: 4
Kudos: 35





	Sway Me More

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve been listening to Sway With Me on the album and well, this happens.

There’s glitter in his fucking mouth. 

Roman snatches the nearest champagne flute, gurgles the content then spits it right back in. All clean. He grins at the girl whose hand he swings the full glass into, watches her try not to vomit as she holds on to it. Good, good, this girl’s cool. Could do with more like them, really. Doesn’t talk, loves living. He half examines her face for a second but, no, not today. 

He turns, and the ceiling swirls. Fuck, what’s this called, champagne flush? He feels high. He probably is. “Come, come”, he greets the next familiar faces streaming in, all good friends, all deserve a place in his glorious club. Fuck, he loves this club. He loves his life. All sounds are screams, all colors are blood. All bodies writhes like hanged criminals. He twirls, hands patting cheeks and arms and butts. Some scramble to touch him, some try to get away. Does it matter? He’ll get them all. Everyone here, all pretty, all hungry, all his. 

His blood thrums, his body sways. Oh, this part right here, it’s coming, it’s his favorite part. He lets the crowd guide him, not quite touching, not daring to touch him unless he touches them first. But he loves to pretend, all the fun of being swept away without the disgust of inferior contacts. So he sways and smiles and walks, pill after pill, drink after drink. 

Then he falls down. Right middle of the dance floor. 

The music stops. 

Roman laughs into his sleeve. He hears footsteps. Cursing. Then like magic, the music starts again. He loves pretending, so everyone has to pretend too. They dance, they drink, they talk again. Roman lies there and waits, alcohol of the night pulling all towards his extremities. His face, so fucking warm. Wishes he had the mask now, to wear after he tears his own skin off. 

Just when Roman is starting to claw at his chin, a rough hand takes his bicep and pulls him up like he weighs nothing. 

“Alright, time to go,” Victor says, throwing Roman’s arm over his shoulder and picking him up by the waist, though it looks like he’s just helping. Like Roman can even walk at this point. Victor doesn’t grunt, doesn’t add “princess” like it’s an insult, but Roman hears it so he sniggers. Fuck, now both the carpet and his feet can dance. He clings to Victor, breathes alcohol on him. 

“Izss hmm warr—“ 

What’s he saying? He can’t tell, Victor would know. He just dips and lets Victor push him into the elevator, lets a “ding” take them to a quieter place. Somehow, Roman reminds himself not to lick the floor. It’ll taste like skin, he’s sure of it, because he has never tasted a strip of skin without it or his lips bleeding. But Victor doesn’t like kissing elevator floor, so that’s out.

They don’t make it to the bed. They don’t make it to the goddamn door. Roman just falls down right there in front of the elevator, like he did in the club. This time, he brings Victor with him. They both grunt as they roll, Victor’s feet knocking down a Ming vase. But Roman gets him, he always does. He grins and grinds down, feels Victor’s cock poking between his asscheeks. That’s more like it, something that size should be hard all the time. Roman would gladly ride it all day like that. 

“Juss rpp,” he mumbles, mouth barely cooperating, but Victor still obeys and tears a hole straight through Roman’s dress pants. Roman just yanks Victor’s jeans down, nothing else between them, underwear is for pussies. He arches his back as Victor pops right in, hot dry slide the only thing registering on his buzzing skin. It’s supposed to hurt, but he’s too out of it, too high, so he spreads his knees, takes a hold of his own cock and pees. 

Victor curses. Piss spreads all over his half-opened shirtfront, slowly making it stick to his abdomen, his chest, his neck. Some of it streams down where his cock meets Roman’s ass too, so Roman rocks down until he’s all bottomed out on one front and empty on another. Somehow with the haze he’s in, it still stinks. His piss, his sweat, a malebitch’s cologne he can smell on Victor even now.

“You filthy slut,” Victor says and slaps him. Roman slaps back. All night long, can’t wait to get this brute in bed, and this is what he gets? The cock in his ass gets harder. Bigger too. But he needs something more. 

Sensing his frustration hampered by incoherence, Victor flips. Roman’s back hits the floor, right in the piss puddle, it splashes on him and some more drips down from Victor’s chest. Rank salt hits his mouth, Roman laughs as Victor spreads his legs, pushing his thigh down for leverage as he pistols away. _Now it_ hurts, his thighs, his back, his neck, everything burns. Victor pumps and pumps, cursing, mumbling, “He was a mark you vain dumb bitch”, one hand coming up to grind Roman’s face into his own piss on the floor. Roman gags, and Victor slaps him hard again. Yanks his shirt open to claw bloody lines across his ribs. 

Roman scrambles in vain, his nails sliding harmlessly off cold marble, his hands reaching for Victor rudely swatted off. It hurts, it hurts, he’s being dug into the fucking ground, he can’t see anything beyond red and yet, yet—

“Bstard! You motherfucking BASTARD!!” He screams, finally breaking through. “You mis— you betrayed me! Nobody betrays me! Nobody!!”

“He was. A fucking. Mark. I told you three times after he came in, get it into your stinking peanut brain!” Victor snaps back, pinning him by the shoulders and pounding into him like it’s punishment. Roman’s hard, the louder he screams he harder he cums. This isn’t even the fiftieth time they get down this way, but he hates it like that time he hated his manicure so much, he ripped all the nails off the girl who did it. He hates that cologne, he hates it clinging to Victor so deep the smell of piss can’t cover it up. 

“Oh hell no,” Victor says, seeing the look in his eyes. Before Roman can say anything, he’s slapped again and pushed so he’s on all fours. Four fingers shoves into him, so rough his head swims, then he hears a “clink” as Victor pulls out that blade he keeps in his boots. 

A red hot line slashes across his back. 

Roman screams, this time for a completely different reason. This time he’s angry. Nobody touches him without his say-so, nobody gets to mark him. Then more warmth splashes on him, and it ain’t his blood. He turns around, in time to see Roman digging the tip of his knife into his stomach. One line across the navel, another so it forms an X. 

“See it, baby? All yours,” Victor says, picking Roman’s left hand to press it against the gash. Roman pushes, feels the red welling up and running down between his fingers. Victor holds on to his hand, keeps it there as he fucks into him again, more and more blood pooling down Roman’s back before forming a poodle where they kneel. Heady metal fills the air, along with the piss and this time it feels right, it smells like they should. Roman flushes. He curls his fingers, imagines digging at Victor’s stomach until he can pull out innards. Feet after feet of heavy hot guts he can wrap himself in. Kiss and rub and lick his fill, until all of Victor becomes his. 

Just like that, Roman comes with a blissful smile. Slumping down for the third and final time that night, he sleeps.

***

Victor breathes deeply as he pushes his hair back. Red streaks smear down his face, bloody swipes marking everywhere he was touched and where he bruised in return. In his sleep, Roman’s ass clenches, squeezing out a stream of cum to join the mess they just rolled around in. He actually looks graceful, lying quietly there, not throwing tantrums. Not as exciting, but still good enough to eat. 

Victor’s phone has hit the wall with a crack earlier, so buzzing for room service it is. That good spot on the stomach gone, he’ll need to plot another place for his latest mark. Was it necessary to get so personal? No. But kid was pretty, and it got Roman to take his eyes off that Canary hack for a night. 

Whistling softly, Victor lightly kicks Roman’s firm butt on his way to the bathroom. Then, almost against himself, he squats down, gently kissing Roman on his sweaty forehead. 

“Sleep tight, princess.”

End. 


End file.
